Faculty Mixer

I stared at the article of clothing lying in the cardboard garment box Kurt had just given me. The box was emblazoned with a very discrete logo about the size of a coaster that said "Needful Things", and I wondered if Steven King would have appreciated his phrase being copped by a fetish boutique. Probably. The logo was discreet, until you noticed the crossed whips under the name.

"Well?"

'I suppose stunned is as good a word as any."

"I bought it for you for Christmas, but I can find something else. I just thought that you needed something special for your first date with Langely."

I lifted it from the tissue paper. "Kurt, I'm going to a college faculty mixer, not a fetish ball."

He shrugged. "So? Leather is appropriate for every occasion these days. Anyway, you don't have to show it. Wear a shirt over it, if you want. It'll give you confidence."

I stroked it. The black leather was butter soft. Thin and supple, it was cool to the touch, and had that scent that only leather can have. "I've never worn leather anywhere but on my feet or around my waist."

"Go on, Emmie. If this will be your first time wearing it, I can promise you that you'll be ready to melt Langely's bones before the night is over."

"I probably would be anyway. The guy gets to me, Kurt. I can't understand it. In class, sometimes, I just want to brain him. But then he'll look at me a certain way... and I just want to do whatever it takes to make him start moaning and panting."

Kurt nodded wisely. "I told you. There's a connection between you two, very strong. You see it sometimes when the right Domme and submissive come together. I think perhaps Thomas is in love with you, Emmie."

I scowled. "Don't be ridiculous. We haven't known each other much over a month. It's sex."

"Do you find yourself feeling possessive toward him?"

I didn't have to think about that. "Yes. He asked me if he were allowed to be with other Dominants, and I told him no."

"Did he seem disappointed when you ordered him to be exclusive?"

I remembered Langely's face, there in the dim car interior. His eyes had been shining, his mouth softly smiling as I kissed him. "No. He looked relieved. Happy."

"There you have it. Thomas... Well, he isn't a slut, Emmie, but he hasn't been a monk, either. Sacristy used to share him with others, Masters and Mistresses. He enjoyed it. He was loyal to Sacristy, but there wasn't... it wasn't devotion, you know? She excited him, but I don't think he liked her much. It's different with you. Sacristy was just his mistress. I think he wants you to be that, and his lover." I stiffened a little. "There's a difference, you know. Mistresses are for play. Lovers are for play, and for the rest of life, also. Like any Mundane couple."

"Yeah, well, I'm not lover material. I'm too old and set in my ways for that foolishness. This is just a good time for both of us, Kurt. Don't read any more into it than there is."

"Emmie, what have I told you about being open to possibilities? You don't have to fling yourself into it. You could try tearing down the barricades, at least a little."

"Leave it, will you? Geez, a Mr. Lonely Hearts Dom." I eyed the garment again. "It is pretty. You know, I think I have a nice blouse that matches that ribbon." Kurt grinned. "Oh, stop it. You act like a twelve year old who just talked a girl into showing her panties."

"Now that you mention it, there is a set of matching briefs."

I groaned. "Incorrigible. According to the Cambridge dictionary, an adjective meaning bad, but impossible to change or improve."

"No wonder Langely loves you. How could a professor of literature and English resist a woman who quotes the dictionary?"

I rubbed my fingers on the soft leather again, imagining what it would feel like next to my bare skin, against my nipples. Yes, I decided. I thought that it might make the faculty mixer more interesting than Thomas had bargained.

I dressed carefully that evening. I wore my best black flats, and I actually sacrificed and put on a pair of black tights. Over that I wore a pair of black briefs I had bought those specifically to wear under the gauzy black skirt that constituted my dress wardrobe. It was of that naturally crinkled material that you wrap around a broomstick to dry. The top was a scarlet blouse with long, full sleeves gathered at the wrist. The scoop neckline was low enough to just barely skim the top curves of my bosom. No make up. I knew my limitations, and I wasn't confident I could use it without looking like a hooker. If I was going to look like a hooker, it wouldn't be because of too much rouge.

Thomas arrived at seven thirty, prompt. "Good submissives are very punctual," Kurt commented, watching him come up the walk. "Unless they're angling for some correction." He was dressed a little more casually than he usually was in class: an open sports jacket, no vest, loafers. Kurt opened the door before he could knock.

Langely stared up at him. Kurt was a good half head taller than he. "I'm here for Emily." he said flatly. Kurt stepped back and gestured him in. Langely entered, and Kurt shut the door after him.

I greeted him. "Hi, Langely. Just a minute. I'm transferring my things." I was unloading change, ID, and keys from my ususal knapsack sized purse into a daintier black clutch on a thin strap.

He stood stiffly, waiting. Kurt made him uncomfortable, and my roommate, being a perceptive soul, noticed it, too. "We've met before."

Thomas threw him a glance. "You escorted Emily once after class."

"No, before that. You were with Sacristy before, yes? She brought you to the set. It was..." he squinted in concentration. "Backfield in Motion? No. Ah, I remember. Summer Surrender, about the camp counselors."

Thomas was turning red. "Yes. She knew the director, and took me there for a visit."

Kurt was standing close to him. He was invading Langely's personal space, but Thomas didn't move. "If I remember correctly, she had you help one of the other actors prepare for his scene. Bradley had come twice already, Emmie. We didn't think he'd be able to get it up again, but Thomas had him hard in no time." Langely didn't exactly flinch, but he closed his eyes as Kurt stroked his cheek with one fingertip. "You're very good."

"Stop teasing him, Kurt," I said firmly.

He shrugged, and caressed Langely’s face again. "You be sure to behave yourself, Thomas. Take good care of my Emily." At that comment, Thomas jerked, glaring at Kurt. "Oh ho. All right, not my Emily."

"Kurt, I said stop it! You're being a Teutonic twit." I kissed my fingers, then slapped them lightly against his cheek. "Don't wait up for me. And feed the babies if you don't want them chewing your toes tonight."

Thomas escorted me to the car, opening the door and handing me into the passenger seat before getting in himself. He started the car and pulled away, all without speaking. We drove for awhile, and finally I said, "Thomas, you shouldn't take Kurt too seriously. He can tease something awful, but he doesn't mean any harm."

"I didn't remember him till he mentioned Sacristy. I was with her for almost a year, but she's in California now. I think she set up her own 976 phone sex service." He slid a look over at me. "She shared me,a good bit, with both Mistresses and Masters. Does that bother you?"

"The fact that you've been with a number of people, or the fact that you're bisexual? Neither one. If those things bothered me, I'd hardly have Kurt for a friend, would I? Don't worry about how your past will affect us, Thomas. Just concentrate on the present."

"What about the future?"

I frowned. "Who am I, Dionne Warwick? The future will come, despite what we do. Don't worry about it." He didn't seem satisfied with that, but he didn't pursue it. I was grateful. I wasn't ready to discuss my future past the end of the semester with anyone, including myself.

At last he looked over at me again and said, "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, sir. Thomas, correct me if I'm wrong, but you really don't give a rat's ass about academic politics, do you?"

"You're an astute woman, Emily. To be completely accurate, I don't give a flying fuck about them"

"You're not worried that having me associated with you might give you an iffy reputation with your colleagues?"

"I don't see how it could. You're an intelligent, attractive woman. And you seem to be very polite, to anyone except me."

"You're a special case, and you know it. You'd strain the social skills of Miss Manners and Emily Post combined when you're in a snotty mood. Which is often."

"True. Why are you asking? I haven't noticed you having any problems with your self confidence before."

"Just mapping out my evening strategy. I'd like to give the other profs something to chew over for awhile."

"Now you have me curious. Tell me."

"Patience." I laid a hand on his thigh and squeezed as we pulled up before a large house. "Haven't I satisfied you so far?"

He swallowed. "Miss Emmie..."

I cut off the engine, pulled the keys, and handed them to him. "Not now, Thomas. Now we go mingle."

Both sides of the street were thick with parked cars. Mostly the low cost, conservative jobs favored by the more junior instructors. But there was a sprinkling of Mercedes belonging to the more established, well published academics. The ground floor was lit up, and shadows milled across the drawn drapes. When Thomas knocked, the door was answered by a man I recognized from registration day: Campbell, one of the lower level administrators.

"Thomas, glad you could come." He shook Langely's hand in a perfunctory manner, then offered his to me. As we shook, he said, "And this is?"

"Roland, this is Miss Emily Benoit."

"Benoit. Oh, you're the one who made Langely's workshop possible. How's it going?"

"Educational, inspirational, and occasionally exasperating."

His eyebrows quirked. "Well, Thomas, she's not a sycophant, like most of the star students we get at these shindigs. Have fun, you two."

"We shall, we shall." I said, as we moved into the crowd. A lot of the guests must have come in taxis, because there had to be close to fifty people wandering about the ground floor. I hadn't attended many parties, mixers, or functions of any kind, so I had no standard to gauge it on. It was all right. There was a wine bar, and a buffet of finger food. The untenured instructors seemed to be making the best use of these amenities. The problem with that was that there wasn't nearly enough seating, and even few flat surfaces to put plates and glasses. The last time I'd seen that much juggling, it was at a Flying Karamozov Brothers show.

Langely complained, "I don't know how they expect us to hold a plate, and a glass, and still be able to eat."

"I could feed you." I offered innocently.

He looked at me sharply. Then his lips curved in the barest ghost of a smile. "I'm only beginning to guess the depths of your wickedness."

"All right, if you don't want to have any fun, we can take turns holding the plate." That's what we finally did, and we managed much more gracefully than most of the crowd. Now and then a colleague would stop by and pass a few remarks with Thomas. They didn’t say much to me, just eyed me curiously. When we were done, Thomas got refills on the wine, and we set about mingling. The air conditioning in the house must not have been at peak efficiency. Either that or Campbell was a cheap bastard, because it got uncomfortably warm. The body heat of the crowd more than made up for the lowered thermostat.

I found myself with Thomas in a small group off to one side: Campbell, a couple of other liberal arts instructors and their wives, and an art instructor with a creamy little blonde who most definitely was NOT his wife. She was introduced as 'a talented young artist working in the exciting media of textiles.'

Translation, she wove. She was wearing a dress made out of her own fabric. The dark blue wooly fabric was nice, but I thought the silver threads were a bit much for a casual affair. Of course, I couldn't give a really informed opinion, since there was so little actual fabric on display. We're talking brief.

She was what I call a Cosmo girl. You know the sort, like you’ve so often seen on the cover of Cosmopolitan magazine. Neckline down to there, hair out to here. The hair is supposed to make you think they just climbed out of the sack after a hearty shag. I, personally, think it looks like they dried their hair in a wind tunnel, then styled it with a Mixmaster. She had the attitude, too. She'd have flipped her hair if it hadn't been lacquered in place.

And she was working the men. Pout, shift, eye lash flutter. They all were eating it up, much to the displeasure of the spouses. When she tried it on Langely, I decided it was time to make my move. She had cast a simpering look on him, tugging her neckline away from her bosom slightly, and cooed, "Is it just me, or is it warm in here?"

"You know," I said, rolling the cool side of my goblet against my forehead. "You're right. It is rather steamy in here." I handed the goblet to Langely. "Be a dear and hold this for a moment." He took it.

I began to pull the tail of my blouse out of my waistband. "If I don't get a little more air, I just may faint." I explained. I started to unbutton my blouse. It got very quiet around me. "You know, I debated about layering, but I thought well, it may be chilly on the way home, and I don't want to take a wrap." I opened my blouse, shaking it into a loose, comfortable position, draped just on the curves of my shoulders. Then I took my glass back from Thomas, who was fighting back a stunned grin.

The bustier was tucked decently into the skirt at the bottom. It swept up, skin smooth, and my breasts were not disclosed any more than would be seemly in, say, certain European courts a couple of centuries ago. I wasn't in any danger of flashing a nipple, though the leather was so thin and tight that I would have been pointing at someone if it had been cold. But there was a good bit of curvage on display. It laced up the front with a thin scarlet ribbon, tied in a small bow directly at my cleavage. I'm a normally pale woman, and my skin looked very white against the black leather.

Miss Textiles glowered at me. The art professor took a deep gulp of wine. "What do you do, uh...?"

"Miss Emily. I'm a performance artist. I explore the nature of human sexuality in verse."

"Oh? Where might I see your work?"

"I only give private performances." I took a sip of wine, and winked at him over the rim. Then I handed the glass to Thomas. "Be a dear and fetch me a wee bit more, would you?" The grin had almost emerged as he left.

"I must say, I'm a bit surprised," said Campbell. "Thomas has never brought a date to one of these before. And then to show up with such an interesting companion. I would have expected someone tweedier."

"I save those for special occasions." I adjusted my bustier minutely, tightening the bow, and said in a soft voice, "They chafe so. Excuse me, I think I'll go find Thomas. I'm afraid I'm an impatient woman."

He was at the end of a short line at the wine bar. "Thomas, I've changed my mind about that wine. What I've already had is clamoring to escape. Come show me where the facilities are."

"They're just down that hall."

"I looked. The line is longer than one for the ladies room at a major sporting event, and that's bad. Isn't there one upstairs?"

"Sure. You go upstairs and through..."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I don't want to wander around in a strange house. Come show me."

He led me upstairs and down a hall, then into a small back bedroom. He gestured toward the bathroom on the far side of the room. "There you are."

"Good." I grabbed his hand and dragged him in and shut the door. Then I turned around and crowded him back against the counter.

"What are you doing, Miss Emily?" he said softly.

"I'm going to molest you." I started kissing his neck. He sighed, dropping his head back so I could have freer access.

"I could scream for help."

"No one would believe you, foolish boy. I'd just say you led me on. No one would blame me."

Once I'd put a nice hickey on his neck, I put down the lid on the toilet and pointed. "Sit." Thomas obeyed, and I patted his head. "Gooood boy." I knelt in front of him, put my hands on his knees, and pushed them slowly apart.

I love the sound of a zipper opening. In the right circumstances, it's one of the sexiest sounds in the world. I reached into the resulting gap and found the comfort slit in Langely's jockeys, then eased his cock out. It was already beginning to thicken against my palm.

"Miss Emmie?"

"Yes, Thomas?"

"Miss Emmie, you didn't lock the door."

"I know." I started to stroke him. I noticed how warm and velvety his skin was.

"Miss Emmie, there are a lot of people here. They've been drinking a lot of wine."

"I noticed that. Do you suppose they use the wine as a tax deduction?" I reached into his pants again and found his balls.

He stifled a groan. "Miss Emmie, someone could walk in at any moment."

I looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, they could." I squeezed gently, carefully working my fingers to roll his testicles.

This time he couldn’t hold back the low, pleading sound. "Please, Miss Emmie. Let me lock the door."

I pressed the tip of his cock to the crease of my cleavage, nestling it against the soft skin. It was damp, and very hot. "If you're that concerned, then I'd better just stop, hadn't I?" I let my fingers crawl down and find the sensitive spot just under his scrotum. Kurt had mentioned that this was particularly sensitive in some men. That seemed to be the case for Thomas Langely. He gasped. "Should I stop?" My only answer was harsh panting.

I leaned forward a bit more, drawing him down so that he traced the lacings, the satin ribbon tickling him. "Answer me, Tommy. Should I stop?"

"No, ma'am." he whispered, turning anxious eyes to the door. "All right, then." I rubbed his prick against the front of my bustier, over my breasts. The leather had been cool when I donned it, but it had warmed with my body heat. My nipples were hard, clearly visible through the thin leather. I dragged his cock head over the firm points. His eyes flashed from the door, down to what I was doing, then up to my face. He looked stunned.

He had been about half erect. In another moment or two he was fully aroused. He made a tentative push against my bosom. When I didn't scold him, he did it again. I cupped my hands over him, giving him a tight passage between my palms and my leather clad tits. He started fucking against me slowly.

He slid against me, biting his lip. He said, "Those men downstairs."

"Yes, Tommy. What about them?"

"They want you."

"Do they? What do they want? Tell me."

He braced himself, one hand on the counter, the other on the wall, and lifted his hips more strongly. "They want to fuck you. I want to fuck you. Please, Miss Emmie."

I pulled away abruptly, leaving his hard on wavering. "You know the rules." I bit the words off sharply.

He looked abandoned. "Miss Emmie..." Langely reached toward me placatingly, but I knocked his hand aside and stood up. He moaned. "Please!"

"I want to leave now." Why did he have to ask for something I wasn't able to give him, or anyone?

I started for the door. Hearing a soft grunt behind me, I looked back. Thomas was jerking off, his strokes fast and hard. I stepped back and slapped his face hard enough to make my palm sting, hissing, "Did I say you could do that?"

Shocked, he stopped, hand flying to his cheek "Miss Emily..."

"N. I'm angry with you, Thomas. You don't deserve to come now, so don't you dare. Now, close your pants, and let's go make our good-byes."

He had to struggle to maneuver his stiff dick back into the confines of his pants. When he zipped up, his erection was clearly visible, tenting the front of his trousers. He gazed down. "But I can't go down there like this."

"Thomas, if we don't leave quickly, you can count this as the last time I see you or speak to you outside of class."

He swallowed hard, then nodded. "All right."

The little group we'd left was still chatting together when we came downstair. They saw us descend, and watched us approach with keen interest. One of the faculty wives leaned over and whispered to the other, who giggled.

We arrived, and Thomas said in a strained voice, "Nice do, Roland, but we have to run."

They were taking in our appearances. The art professor was focused on the thrust of my nipples against the black leather. The women were trying to look at Langely's crotch without being seen to look. Yes, ladies, that big, tasty looking bulge was caused by me, and no one else can have it. Eat your fucking hearts out.

I thanked the host politely for a lovely evening. Thomas put his hand on my back to escort me. He felt the tension in my muscles, and gave me a worried look. As soon as the door closed behind us I shook him off and stalked to the car. The only reason I let him open my door for me was because we’d locked it before going in. Damn modern crime prevention makes it hard to storm properly. I wanted to give it a good, satisfying slam.

Langely got in behind the wheel. He just sat for a moment, looking at me with disappointment and thwarted lust in his eyes. I said nothing, staring straight ahead until he gave up and started the car.

When we pulled to a stop in front of my place, I snatched the door open violently, swinging my legs out. Langely cried out, "Emmie, I'm sorry! Please!"

I hesitated, then pulled my legs back in, shut the door, and turned to him. "Cut the engine." He turned the key, and the motor died. I tried to speak in a level tone, but it came out strained. "Look Langely, I told you when this thing, whatever it is, started. I'm not going to fuck you, or anybody else. Didn't you like what I was doing?"

"God, yes."

"Then I don't understand why you want more."

"I'm sorry, Emily. It's just that you're so special."

"It's the goddam virginity thing, isn't it? Thomas, it's a membrane. I may not even have the damn thing any more. I used to ride bakes a lot. Then there was that really memorable incident in gym when I fell astraddle on the balance beam. I didn't pass out, but I damn sure wished I had."

"No, it's not that. It's intriguing, of course. But no. I wanted to fuck you a long time before I knew you're still cherry."

"Yeah?" I couldn't help but be interested. "How long?"

"Since the first day, when you called me Pro-fessor Lang-lay. And when you licked that chocolate off you finger at lunch I had to leave, because I started to get hard." I remembered the sound his chair had made as he shoved away from the table. That long ago? My anger began to cool. "Ever since then I've just been drive crazy with wanting to touch you, wanting you to touch me."

"Was that you on the phone?"

He blushed, and didn't try to act innocent by asking what I meant. "I couldn't help myself. I kept thinking of you lying there in that steaming water, rubbing bubbles all over yourself."

"So you called me on your cell phone."

He nodded. "I sat out here and touched myself, listening to you."

"I kind of suspected that." I sighed. "Okay, maybe I over reacted tonight. A little."

I saw a red smudge on Langely's cheek where I had cracked him "Oh, Tommy." I touched it, and he winced. I'm sorry. I won't ever hit you again in anger." I caresses his face, and he leaned into my touch, sighing in happy relief. His eyes opened wide when he felt my other hand on his belt buckle. "Push your seat back as far as it will go." He reached down beside his seat and pulled the lever, sliding back several inches as I unzipped him and spread his pants open. "Take them down." He looked quickly up and down the street. "Thomas, I'm trying to be nice to you. Don't make me regret it."

Blushing furiously, he lifted his ass and pulled his pants and underwear down, pushing them down his thighs. "Were you this shy on that video set?"

"That was different. They were professionals. It wasn't any big deal to them." He looked at me, and his voice lowered. "I didn't care about any of them."

He was still hard. I ran a fingertip up the underside of his shaft, along the ridge. "What about Mademoiselle Sacristy? Didn't you care about her?"

"Not like I do for you. She never would have gone to something like that with me. She didn't have all that much use for me unless I was servicing her. She thought I was boring."

"Silly bitch." I rubbed my thumb over the head of his penis, catching the first clear bead of pre-seminal fluid and spreading it. He made a breathy sound. "You can be pretty fucking exasperating out in the wide world, Langely, but boring you're not."

"Thank you, Emily." This time I knew he wasn't thanking me for the hand job I was giving him. He had the same soft tone in his voice he'd had the first time, when he'd observed with gentle wonder that I was taking care of him. That tone, that look, did something to me. I suddenly felt achingly hollow. I had to do something quickly to distract us both.

I leaned down and blew a hot breath over his cock. I waited for him to shiver in reaction, then settled in to give him a slow, thorough blow job. The first time he’d been so close to the edge when I began that it was over almost as soon as it started. I wasn't going to let that happen this time.

I'd consulted with Kurt about how to delay the male orgasm. Due to his line of work, he was pretty experienced in the technique. Can't have the actors squirting at random, can we? An hour or two delay till they're ready to go again can fuck with the schedule and the budget.

I alternated licking and sucking till I thought he was close. Then I'd pull off, clamping my hands tightly around the base of his cock and waiting till he backed off from the edge. I did this again and again, till I lost count of the times.

Finally he was making an almost continual whine, and I had mercy on him. I released my vice grip on his cock for the last time and started to give fast, hard, aggressive head. Every three or four bobs I deep throated him, blowing out hot breaths to ruffle his pubic hair.

His voice was wild as he tugged at my hair. "Miss Emmie, I'm going to come! You better... you better..." I grabbed his hips, tugging. He understood. Crying out, he began to fuck up into my mouth, holding my head.

I wouldn't have been able to take it for long, because I really couldn't breathe that way, bent over with his cock in my mouth. But it didn't take long. A dozen thrusts, and I felt the first hot gush of liquid. This time I swallowed. He was buried deep, and the squeezing flex of my throat muscles wrung another strangled cry from him, and another jolt of cream.

Langely slumped. I spent another minute or two licking him clean. Then I kissed it, and tucked it away decently. I sat up, pressed my lips to his, and slid my tongue into his mouth, giving him a taste of himself. He sucked on my tongue, but when I felt him trying to push his own into my mouth, I pulled back. He looked disappointed again, and I tweaked his nose. That got me a small, reluctant smile. "Can I see you again tomorrow?"

"We'll see."

Langely took me back up the walk. In a lovely old fashioned gesture, he took my key to unlock the door for me. He didn't get a chance. The door swung open before the key hit the slot. Kurt stood there grinning at us. The front of his shorts was tented, and he was holding a pair of binoculars. He shrugged. "Well, you've already had your goodnight kiss."

"Kurt!"